


THIS RUNNING START SUMMER WILL NEVER END

by floatingcastle



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Age Difference, Codependency, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Food Play, Grooming, Incest, M/M, Sibling Incest, and also does not even remotely think they are being nonconned, i didnt write them explicitly fucking but it is very implied, kumon thinks he can consent to fucking juza, noncon but the victim is extremely into it i guess, there are implications that he doesnt have the option to say no or back out when things get going
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:22:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29188497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floatingcastle/pseuds/floatingcastle
Summary: #A3NSFWvalentine — Day One: Food PlayJuza and Kumon's relationship veers wildly off course because of some melon popsicles.
Relationships: Hyoudou Juuza/Hyoudou Kumon
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5
Collections: A3 NSFW Week: Valentine's Edition





	THIS RUNNING START SUMMER WILL NEVER END

**Author's Note:**

> heed the tags! this isn't really an in-depth examination of incest/grooming/abuse or anything, but neither is it a wholly fluffy fic that ignores those elements. ymmv

This is a memory.

The sun drags a lazy pace out of Juza that summer day. Its heat crawls over the floorboards, through the walls, into every corner of the house, inescapable. It feels like he’s dragging his limbs through jell-o. 

His mom gently scolds him when he asks for ice cream, saying he’s already had his fill of sweets for the day with the strawberry tart he had with breakfast. He’s only thirteen, then, but he’s already learned that it’s better to keep his wants in check to avoid bothering other people, so he doesn’t ask his mother a second time. 

(The kids at school give him fearful looks when he shuffles down the hallways. He tries to make himself small. It never works. The target on his back is miles wide compared to everyone else.)

Just as Juza’s about to resign himself to attempting homework in his room, Kumon bursts into the living room like a rocket. And he asks for the same thing—it’s the perfect day for ice cream, isn’t it? Their mom clicks her tongue, but the heat is getting to her, too. This time, she nods, saying fine, alright. 

Kumon really can do anything. His light blots out the shadows that follow Juza’s towering back. 

While their mom goes to the supermarket, Juza goes back to his room. He clicks his mechanical pencil a few times, glances at the clock, and wipes some sweat off his forehead. It’s warm and sticky where his thighs adjust against the seat of his desk chair. He tugs his pants down a little to let more air in, refreshing against his melting skin. 

Soon, the Hyodos’ mom comes back with ice cream. Juza is at the entrance waiting to carry her grocery bags before she’s even pulled into the driveway. He helps her every time, because he wants to be a good kid to make up for how he already troubles her, but you can’t blame him if he’s more excited about this particular instance. Just one glimpse of the multicolored packaging makes him shift weight between his feet, antsy. 

Kumon attaches himself to Juza like a koala as soon as they’ve both gotten their popsicles. He’s constantly moving, throwing his arms over Juza’s shoulders, wriggling into his lap when he sits down, addicted to that skin-to-skin touch with his beloved older brother even when it’s too hot for any reasonable human being to be within five feet of someone else. 

Juza doesn’t mind. Kumon’s much smaller than he is, cute and lovable. When he sees that sunny smile paired with the overeager physical affection, he almost believes he’s worth something. 

They sit on the back porch, feet idly kicking at nothing, and watch the clouds roll by. Juza’s already half-devoured his popsicle. Melon-flavor, melon-green. He licks at it, savoring the sweet chill on his tongue, licks at it again, thoughts filled with nothing but pure and innocent joy. 

“Nii-chan! Can we play later?”

Juza tilts his head, looks at Kumon sitting in his lap, and a switch gets flipped somewhere inside of him. 

Kumon is gentle with his popsicle, even as lines of melon-flavor drip onto his wrist. He’s happy to lick it off his own skin. It’s kind of messy. Juza watches Kumon’s mouth, his soft lips, as they wrap around the head of the melon popsicle again. His eyes flutter shut; pure and innocent joy falls over his expression.

Juza’s skin feels hot, hotter than it was a moment ago, and his blood is throbbing in his lower body. The strength of that heat startles him with how quickly it comes over him, and he doesn’t quite understand the why or how of it. He swallows. 

“Nii-chan?”

“…Ah, yeah. We can do whatever you wanna do.”

The spot where Kumon’s sitting feels like it’s going to burn up. 

His eyes are glued to the show of Kumon finishing off his popsicle for the next few minutes, licking and sucking at it until the only thing left is the wooden stick, before Juza realizes that his own popsicle is dying in his idle hand. 

It takes a few minutes more for the throbbing to cool down. He tries to focus on finishing his popsicle, with the thought of asking his mom if he can have one or two more when he’s done with his homework. 

The sun crawls over his skin, accusatory, a red-hot shame. He wraps one arm around Kumon’s waist and indulges in that touch—that _familial, platonic_ touch—as much as he’ll allow himself. 

Memories are meant to stay memories. 

Juza is eating popsicles again, except this time his family is more than Kumon and his mother, his family is Mankai Company, a miraculous place that accepts someone like him, and he is 20 years old. It’s an age that felt much further away and much larger when he was still the kid in his memories. Rather, even though he’s 20, he still feels like a kid. What does it take to grow up?

The summer sun strikes again this year. Cheap as the dorms are, of course the air conditioning only works a small percentage of the time. Sakyo refuses to allocate any of the budget toward buying a new one. They can survive without it, he says. ...Cheapskate.

Cold sweat rolls down the back of Juza’s neck, collecting in a dark stain at the collar of his shirt. He stares at the door to his room. Waiting. 

He has a date with Kumon today.

Well, it’s not a _date_. Kumon called it a date, but they’re just hanging out like usual. Juza’s the weird one for even having to think twice about it, and he knows Kumon definitely doesn’t mean it some other way. They’re hanging out. As brothers. Like normal. 

The heat is melting his brain, probably. That’s the only excuse he can find for how nervous he still is while waiting for his little brother to show up. 

_Slam._

He sits up straight, whips his head around, and—godammit, it’s just fuckin’ Settsu. 

“Happy to see you too, my good bitch.” 

“...Thought you were goin’ out today. You get stood up?”

“What? Fuck you. I was just gettin’ my stuff since I’m stayin’ the night out.” 

Juza nods, relieved. “‘Kay.”

Settsu struts back to the front door like a peacock, bag in tow, and gives Juza a smarmy, knowing grin before he leaves.

“Don’t get Kumon pregnant!”

...What? 

The statement is so out of left field that Juza doesn’t have the chance to throw a punch in Settsu’s face for being a bastard. Just, what? Kumon couldn’t get pregnant even if he got fucked, and if Juza were the one fucking him, there’s no way he’d treat him so poorly as to go without a condom…

…

Juza abandons that entire line of thought. He knocks his fist against his head, squeezes his eyes shut, counts to ten, and then focuses on finishing his popsicle before Kumon arrives for their date. 

The next time the door slams open, Juza faces it with a much happier demeanor. Kumon tumbles into Room 104, jumping around like an excited monkey, and Juza can’t remember the last time he smiled so hard his face hurt. 

Games, conversation, normalcy. This is Juza’s normal now, and he still can’t believe how lucky he is. It’s a blissful kind of mundanity. Kumon sits beside him, shoulder to shoulder, and stops mid-sentence to give him a look. 

“Nii-chan, aren’t you hot? You can take your shirt off if you want!” 

Without waiting for an answer, Kumon’s already slipping his fingers under the hem of Juza’s t-shirt. Juza lets him; he moves in tandem to help the process along. The slight chill is refreshing against his sweaty skin.

One of Kumon’s hands lingers, finding a restless home on Juza’s hip. His fingers are more calloused than you’d expect from his appearance. A reminder of the baseball kid within. 

“S’hot,” he mutters, eyes falling closed.

“I can get us more popsicles?” Kumon asks. He jumps up to standing and stretches one arm over his head. 

“Mm.” The aura around him instantly softens at the thought of something sweet.

“I’ll be back faster than you can blink! One sec!”

Kumon’s good on his word. A few seconds later, he’s back, panting, one hand fortified against the door and the other holding two wrapped melon popsicles. There must be some kind of jock gene that runs through the Hyodo-Sakisaka family. Kumon’s calves are nice and built, even though he’s out of practice with sports. Jumping around the stage with Summer Troupe’s kept him pretty fit, huh? 

Juza lazily gestures for him to come sit.

“Thanks.” 

And then Kumon presses the top of his head into Juza’s outstretched hand like an overeager puppy asking for pets, and it’s probably the cutest thing he’s ever seen. 

He runs his fingers through Kumon’s soft hair, petting him as he deserves, relishing in the undisguised joy emanating off of him. Kumon’s always honest about stuff like this. It’s nice to feel wanted. 

Kumon hands him a popsicle, which he gets right onto opening and eating. The melon flavor rings nostalgic. He can’t quite place the memory tied to it, but it feels like he’s lived this summer’s day before. 

“—so then Misumi found this random egg underneath his bed, and then everyone kept trying to guess what it was gonna be when it hatched! I thought it’d be a chicken probably, but Kazu said it could be a magic egg. And then Muku said the scenario was just like this manga, Shugo Chara, and he said, uh… To be honest, I don’t really remember the plot he explained. But there was something egg-related. Like magic fairies or something! Wouldn’t that be so cool?” 

“Yeah. Don’t think fairies are real, though.”

“Well, yeah, I guess so. But what if, y’know? Ah, nii-chan, you’ve got something…”

Kumon takes his face in both hands, leans over, and licks a drop of melon off his cheek. An earthquake rips through Juza’s body while he tries to keep himself stock still. His face feels hot, hotter than it should be even in this weather. It’s nothing big. Kumon’s just an attentive little brother. 

His popsicle’s half-eaten in his hand, and it’s beginning to melt. 

“Thanks,” Juza says. His skin is tingling all over, hyper-aware of every little movement. Kumon’s tongue was soft against his cheek. Wet and warm. So gentle, too. It’s weird to think, but he kind of likes the idea of Kumon’s saliva mixing with the sweat on his body. That’s a thought that can only ever stay in his mind.

Kumon’s a better brother than someone like him deserves. 

With that in mind, Juza lets his wrist drop, and, oh, by coincidence a few drops of the melting popsicle land a spot on his jeans, where a conspicuous bulge has shown up. Nothing is going to happen. He’s just making a mess for no reason. It’s going to be a pain to wipe that off. He’s not looking at Kumon. He’s not looking at Kumon. He’s not doing anything to Kumon.

The heat swells over his skin the way an orchestra swells with emotion during the climax of a show, because,

Kumon leans over and laps at his clothed dick with his tongue. 

That doesn’t seem like the most efficient way to clean this up, and also, his little brother’s mouth is centimeters away from his dick, Juza can’t think straight, and he bites his lip so hard it nearly bleeds. 

“Mmh—K-Kumon, you shouldn’t… do that.”

The rational part of Juza wants to be more angry about this, more betrayed, more adamant about shoving Kumon away for both of their sakes. The horny part of Juza finds himself euphoric over the fact that Kumon’s still sucking at his dick through his jeans, even though there’s not a single spot of melon-green left. 

There’s an obscene noise when Kumon’s lips pop off of his jeans. It’s obscene, too, when Kumon looks up at Juza from under his eyelashes, like some kind of corrupted saint. 

“But you seem like you like it. Is this… not what you want?”

Juza’s hands are curled into tight fists at his sides, every muscle strained, his nails digging into his palms. The bowstring inside of him is going to snap. Kumon is looking at him like he’s the entire world, the universe, more. Eyebrows furrowed, like he’s truly worried he’s done something wrong. 

Kumon _has_ done something wrong, Juza reminds himself. But if Kumon’s wrong here, then Juza’s been wrong since the day he was born. 

“…Didn’t say that.”

He’s wearing the brightest, most hopeful smile, all grinning and awkward. It’s criminal to be that cute. 

“Oh, good! If it makes you happy, I don’t mind at all. I really, really wanna do this for you, actually!” 

Kumon is languid, warm, sweaty, sweet, a comforting weight as he clambers into Juza’s lap with as much enthusiasm as he would sprint around a baseball field. His tongue is hanging out of his mouth like a puppy. 

Juza’s never been able to say no to that face. (This is an excuse.) You’d have to be a demon to deny anything from Kumon when he really wants it. (Sure, _that’s_ the demonic path here.) His resolve is wavering, wavering, wavering. 

“…Felt good. You’re, uh, good at that,” he mumbles. Warmth collects under his skin, pink in his face all the way to the tips of ears. 

When Kumon leans in even closer, he embraces him on instinct, feeling out the firm definition underneath his little brother’s clothes. His body looks and feels different than Juza’s own—smaller, more lean. Unforgivably, the size difference revs his engines like nothing else. 

It’s drawn into focus again when Kumon throws his arms over Juza’s shoulders. He’s leaning into him, chest to chest, to the point that Kumon can definitely feel his heart pounding. A line of sweat dips down his neck, following along the nape. 

Maybe this is the only chance that Juza will ever have to find love. Or maybe he’s just perverted scum that wants to kiss his younger brother. (He’s perverted scum that wants to do even worse things to Kumon, now that he’s crossed the threshold that’s held back his desires.) 

At this point, the difference doesn’t matter all that much to him, because Kumon’s face is right there in front of him, and he kisses him. 

Juza melts into Kumon, runs a hand through his hair, and moans quietly. Kumon seems delighted, given the bulge rubbing against him, and that fills Juza with an irreplaceable sense of pride. 

“Nii-chan… nii-chan, I—mmh…” Little gasps, overwhelmed sighs. 

It’s okay so long as he can make Kumon happy. It’s okay so long as he keeps telling himself that. 

He pulls back to breathe, and then to say: “You can’t tell anyone—you can’t tell the others.” There’s an arrow lodged in his adam’s apple. It’s a good thing Sakyo’s too much of a cheapskate to install anything like security cameras. 

“But everybody already knows how much I love you! And I’m proud of it, too,” Kumon says. He lines kisses down Juza’s bare chest in between every few words, like he can’t stand to be away any longer than that. Energy thrums through all his limbs, wriggling around in Juza’s lap. 

“It’s—it’s gotta be a secret, okay? Just… just you ‘n me.” 

“Gotcha! If that’s what you want, I’m all for it, I promise. Does that mean we can do this again? I really want to do this again.” Kumon slurs his words together, one directly after the other, tripping over his own fervor. 

Something cold drips onto Juza’s skin, and he realizes his half-eaten popsicle is now almost nonexistent where it hangs in his forgotten hand. 

Kumon follows his gaze, smiles, and starts to lick the sticky mess off of Juza’s skin. It’s warm and wet as he licks and kisses his way around Juza’s abs and lower body, mapping it out. He really is like a puppy—it’s like the way you’d lead a pet around with the promise of treats.

He’s a little jealous that Kumon gets to have the last taste of the popsicle. 

“W-whatever you want.”

“I want what _you_ want!”

“…Then I wanna… s-suck your popsicle.”

It doesn’t feel great when Kumon laughs in his face after hearing him say that, but he’s quick to ease his worries.

“You said that so cutely, oh my god! Nii-chan, you’re perfect, you’re perfect!! Ahh, I can’t believe this is really happening!! I hope I’m not dreaming.” 

It’s pretty difficult to doubt the sincerity of that smile. Juza relaxes again, even though he’s pretty sure he just made a fool of himself and Kumon’s just kind enough to let it slide. 

He presses a kiss to Kumon’s forehead, a motion he’s gone through thousands of times over the course of his life. It means something different now. 

“You’re not dreamin’. This is really happening.” 

“Ahh, ahh…!! I love you so much. I love you, I love you, I love you!” Those are words he’s heard from Kumon a thousand times before. It means something different now. His dick is throbbing so much that it’s almost painful, but the least he can do for Kumon is not rush him right now. 

So he sits there as Kumon slides out of his shorts, observes the wet spot that’s grown in the center of his underwear, holds his breath as his little brother’s cute little cock unveils itself. That’s not an unfamiliar sight, either, they’ve taken enough baths with each other to know the sight of each other’s bodies, but he’s never seen it like _this_. Standing tall, so red that it looks like a strawberry-flavored popsicle. 

Kumon leans away from Juza’s piercing gaze, like the scandal of the situation is hitting him all at once, but it’s a little late to be regretting things. The machine has been set in motion and the bowstring is snapped. 

The rational, moral part of Juza’s mind is long gone, drowning under a spurting fountain of repressed desire. He’s wanted to fuck Kumon for years now. So what! Maybe he’s a bad brother, after all—he’s known it all along, hasn’t he? Call someone a monster for so long and watch them turn into a monster. 

So long as Kumon still wants him, it’ll be fine. He doesn’t need anyone else’s approval. 

There is no going back from this.


End file.
